


Primary Source

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Past Abuse, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr's normal-isoverrated wanted Johncroft with Mycroft as John's professor. This story will contain hints of abusive home environments, but nothing graphic. Johncroft, teacher-student relationship.</p><p>Alternate Universe. Professor Holmes can't help but see himself in Mr John Watson.</p><p>
  <b>I don't anticipate adding to this. I'm so sorry.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primary Source

Despite his stature, few things made John Watson feel small, but the wide, wood and white corridors with their high ceilings were doing the trick. He was quite early for class, allowing himself extra time in case unforeseen circumstances occurred. What circumstances exactly, he could not have told you, but he knew it was always best to be prepared.

He spotted the gold numbers he was looking for, taking a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. 

No one was there yet. 

John took a seat at the back of the room and rested his bag on the ground next to him. He retrieved a second-hand history text with care and placed it on the desk before him. That done, he let his eyes find the wide expanse of sky and treetops just through the classroom's large windows. All was silence except the thoughts in John's head. New classes and new professors reminded him of being home, where nothing ever felt routine except the lack of routine. 

After sating his sudden need to stare at something outside of the building, John dug for his notebook and pen. A man strode into the room mere moments after John finished arranging them both on the desk. The man was presumably the professor. He paused in the doorway to smile a sort of practiced smile at John, which John briefly analyzed. For all its practice, it hid no cruelty. John relaxed minutely and smiled back.

"Good morning. I am Professor Holmes," the professor said, looking at ease. He motioned to John with the end of his umbrella.

It wasn't raining, and it didn't look likely to start. John watched the movement of the umbrella with curiosity. "My name is John Watson," he said politely.

"Are you nervous about my class?" the professor asked with a small smile that was a bit more genuine. 

"You could say that," John said. He busied himself with straightening the pile on his desk. "You go ahead and get ready, alright? Pretend I'm not here. I know it's early." The words poured out of him. He would have also said he was sorry for being there early, but he wasn't sorry and he didn't like to lie. 

The professor began to prepare for class, ignoring John except for quick glances here and there. His gaze was careful, but he obviously knew not to bother John. John watched the professor a bit in turn, but tried not to watch too heavily. He didn't want to seem weird. Not that there was much else to do just then. 

The man moved steadily but fluidly, with both precision and flair, and John tried his best not to notice. He felt strangely disappointed when the other students made it to class.

Professor Holmes wrote his title and name on the board in a script that John could never hope to emulate and said, "Welcome class. Today, we start with a writing exercise. I want you all to tell me as much as you can think of about British history. A tall order, I know." John felt the professor's smile was hopelessly charming, if stiff. "You have all class period. Please do practice patience and silence and turn your minds on. This is not for a grade, but that does not mean you shouldn't try. After all, I could always change my mind about the grading."

***

John lingered behind, as did a girl named Eloise who also seemed to be fretting over the assignment. But Eloise finally left, and John closed his eyes tightly for a moment.

"How are we today, Mr Watson?" Professor Holmes asked, walking toward him. With a glance around, he took the desk next to John, sliding into the seat as smooth as clockwork. "With this assignment, I wanted to get an idea of what you already know. It was not supposed to be stressful."

"I...I realize that," John said, looking up with a lame shrug. "Sorry." 

The professor eyed John for a moment. "Interestingly, you seem to be enjoying yourself. I assume you do not have a class directly following this one?"

John shook his head, sighing. "No. I'm sorry, look, just let me get this last sentence. Sorry." He rubbed at his eyes. "I really am. Sorry, I mean."

"Mr Watson, if you'd like, you can bring the assignment into my office. Or perhaps you'd like to finish at home and bring it back to me before class?"

John sat and considered his options, the pen's end suddenly in his mouth as he chewed on the tip. "Alright," he finally said, the pen hanging uselessly from his fingers.

"Alright to which?"

"Can we go to your office? I mean, I don't want to be a bother."

"I invited you," the professor reminded him. "Let me finish packing up my things. It's not a very large office, but you'll have your own chair and a spot at the desk." 

John tried to keep from smiling at the paper in front of him, but he gave in. By the time the professor was done packing, John had sobered a bit. His lip kept wanting to twitch up in appreciation, though. Professor Holmes seemed like an understanding man. 

"Just for today, mind you," said the professor, swinging his umbrella as John stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "You look like you need a quiet space."

"I do," John confirmed. "I really do." He raked his hand through his hair.

"Then come and share mine," said Professor Holmes.

***

True to the professor's word, the office was small but fit both of them comfortably. John didn't feel like an intruder. Actually, it was the most welcome he'd felt anywhere for a long time.

He finally drew his writing to a close, rereading the last bits of it but not the entire thing.

Professor Holmes folded a hand underneath his chin and leaned forward. "What do you think? Did you make good use of your extra time?" 

John nodded, straightening up the pages of his assignment. Professor Holmes took the pages from him and set them in front of him. John had a feeling the gesture meant he intended to read the pages immediately after John left. It was a bit of a frightening thought.

"You were very pleasant company," the professor said, sitting up straight again. "You're going to do much better throughout the rest of the day." It wasn't a question. John took strength from the statement, but he also felt suspicious. How would the man know? And if he didn't know, why would he say so?

"Well, ah, thank you." John didn't really want to leave the quiet office, but he knew it was nearing class time. He stood and shook Professer Holmes's hand. "Thank you, so much. You have no idea." He smiled, chuckling a little with nerves.

"I think I might have some idea," the professor said. His eyes were clear and blue and very steady. "Good day, Mr Watson," he added when John had stared at him enough.

John swallowed. "Er, good day, Professor Holmes." He brushed a fingertip over the side of the desk, then picked up his bag. He maintained eye-contact with the professor for a quiet moment, then turned around. 

John leaned against the other side of the door after closing it shut behind him. Why would the professor say he understood what John was going through? Surely he wasn't just trying to be kind; he sounded like he knew. Maybe there was some kind of...sign John was giving off, that he recognized, that labelled John neatly for him.

John rummaged around for his schedule. His day had only just begun. No use worrying about what the professor knew or didn't know. He could think about it later, when he would be having trouble getting to sleep, as was typical for the first night back. He'd have time then.


End file.
